


Black Clouds

by katikat



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: Mac goes missing while Los Angeles is hit by a downpour. Jack’s POV. A self-indulgent h/c. Emphasis on self-indulgent. (Unbeta'd)





	Black Clouds

Mac disappears on Tuesday, around 10 pm.

They land at the LA airport, Mac and Jack and Riley, back from their mission overseas, and they split, each in his or her own car and all of them complaining about the weather; it’s been raining here for days now, as unbelievable as it may sound, and everything’s wet and cold and _oh so damn wet_!

That’s when they last see Mac. He doesn’t arrive home, the next morning Bozer finds Mac’s bedroom empty and his car missing, and his cellphone’s turned off. And when he calls it in, they sound the alarm.

The team gathers in the war room and while Riley’s digging through police reports - there are none about any car accidents involving a red Jeep - and hospital records - no one matching Mac’s description has been brought in, injured or…  _otherwise_ \- the rest of them try to come up with ideas of what could’ve happened.

They send out a TAC team to check Mac’s route from the airport to his house, just to be absolutely sure that he wasn’t in any accident, after all - but no, there’s no sign of Mac or his car anywhere. They check the traffic cameras - but a part of the grid’s been on the fritz because of the damn rain, the feed dropping in and out, for days now. It would be so easy for someone to use that to get to Mac, to take him or to…

Murdoc. That’s the first culprit that comes to their minds. If there’s anyone willing to lurk patiently around and wait for the right opportunity to spring his trap, it’s Murdoc. But there hasn’t been any word about the man ever since he kidnapped his son and murdered Henry Fletcher. And it can’t be The Ghost. If  _that_ lunatic got Mac, they would know. The  _whole LA_ would know, considering his proclivity for making things go boom in a very spectacular fashion… So, maybe someone finally took El Noche on his four million reward?

They’re running in circles, hitting dead ends on each and every one of their inquiries. And their anxiety grows as hours pass with no news about Mac because the chance of finding him alive and well is getting smaller and smaller by the second. And outside, it’s still pouring down hard…

And while all this is going down, Jack stands there, by the wall of windows in the war room, staring out at the rain-soaked garden that usually adds at least a little cheerfulness to this place. Now, though, it looks sad, grim and beaten, reflecting Jack’s mood perfectly. Because Jack’s afraid,  _very_ afraid. His heart’s clenched, his throat’s thick and he has a hard time breathing, his chest’s so tight. It’s been namely eighteen hours since Mac disappeared and they aren’t one step closer to finding him. He feels…  _helpless_ and it’s tearing him apart.

So, he stands there, by the windows, with his hands balled into fists at his sides, letting the voices of his team members wash over him, and he stares out at the rain, coming down hard, driven by a sharp wind and beating against the thick glass. It’s 4 pm and it’s already starting to get dark outside with the thick clouds hanging low, black and roiling, and no relief in sight. It’s only making his anxiety skyrocket. Jack has to do something. He has to. He  _needs_ to.

He turns around and leaves the war room.

* * *

Jack’s driving way below the speed limit, making all the other drivers furious, making them honk and flash their lights at him, but he doesn’t give a damn. He’s driving so slow because he’s looking around,watching and checking everything, just to be sure.

When he left the war room, the others yelled after him, asked him where he was going. He told them simply he was following a hunch. He learned to trust his Mac related hunches. It’s what drove him out of that plane headed home back in Afghanistan, the absolute certainty that he  _needed_ to stay. He was so sure of it that he bet his whole future on it. Now, now he feels the same way. And he lets his instincts guide him.

He drove to the airport and from there he took the route Mac had taken last night. Sure, the TAC team checked it out already but there’s checking and then there’s  _checking_. And Jack’s not just looking, he’s  _looking_. And that’s how he notices it: the  _roadblock_.

Jack stops at the intersection, ignoring the annoyed honks of the drivers behind him, and stares at the brightly painted pieces of wood with stop signs and lights, now dark, attached to them. They’re set aside, by the side of the road and not across it.  _Not anymore_. But what if… what if last night, they  _were_ there, blocking the most direct route to Mac’s house up in the hills? What if Mac was forced to use a  _different_ road?

To the rapid  _swoosh-swoosh-swoosh_  of the windshield wipers, Jack looks left and then right. If -  _if!_  - Mac couldn’t go straight here, which road would he take?  _Right_ , Jack decides, remembering having used that road with Mac before, on lazy days when he drove the kid home and they didn’t have to rush, when they could take their time and just poke fun at each other in a friendly banter.  _Yes, right._

The road winds up into the hills and Jack slows down even more, almost to a crawl, because he can barely see now, it’s like the heavens just tore open and poured out everything they got. His headlights are barely cutting through the gloom and so he keeps his eyes peeled, squinting into the gathering dark, making sure he doesn’t miss anything, the smallest thing that doesn’t fit.

And that’s the only reason why he actually sees it, the break in the guardrail, gray on darker gray of rain soaked woods, then nothing and then more gray on gray again. He slams on the brakes and his car almost fishtails, the mud running down the slope above him making the road slippery. He manages to keep his car under control, though, and he parks on the shoulder, setting his emergency lights blinking. Then, with a deep, fortifying breath, Jack gets out.

The coldness of the rain almost drives his breath out of his lungs and the sharp wind steals the last of it from his lips. He turns with his back against the deluge, instantly soaked to the skin, and quickly crosses the road; there’s no car in sight but in this weather, he might not even see it coming. He stops at the broken guardrail and looks down the hillside - and his heart almost stops.

Because there, good thirty feet down and wrapped around a tree, is Mac’s Jeep, dark and lifeless, only the back end sticking out of the bushes. If Jack wasn’t actually looking for it, he would’ve probably missed it.  _Jesus. Jesus…_

“Mac!” Jack shouts, frantically looking around for a way down. In the end, he just drops to his haunches and slides down the path the Jeep plowed in the softened terrain, getting mud everywhere and not caring at all. All he cares about now is getting down there, to the kid.  _Please, please, let him be alive. Just… please!_

He almost slides right down underneath the car, catching himself in the last second, then carefully and with his heart in his throat, he moves alongside the Jeep, down to the driver’s side, absently taking in the smashed windows and twisted metal. And then, hanging onto the door for dear life, he finally looks inside.

Mac’s there, hanging limply in the safety belt with his hands in his lap and head down. He’s soaked and pale and he’s not moving.  _He’s not moving. He’s not–_

Jack swallows hard, and hoisting himself up, he frees one of his hands to reach in and touch Mac’s throat, searching for a pulse. He shudders at how cold Mac’s skin is and for long seconds he can’t find it,  _he can’t find a pulse_ and he feels his eyes starting to burn,  _please, please, no…_

But then he feels something, a light flutter against his fingertips, barely there but  _still there_! And Jack will take anything, anything at all, but the empty nothingness from a second ago.  _Anything_. He bursts out laughing, his relief so profound that he rests his forehead against the twisted metal of the car for a moment because he feels almost lightheaded.  _Thank you, thank you, God._

Straightening up again, Jack runs his fingers lightly over Mac’s wet hair, plastered against his head with water and blood, and whispers, “Hang in there, buddy. I’m here now and I’ll take care of you. You just hang on.”

And then he pulls out his cellphone that miraculously survived his muddy ride down the slope and dials Riley’s number. “Riley?” he yells. “I found him! I  _got_ him. Track my phone and send the EMTs, firemen,  _everyone_. The damn fool rolled his car down the hill! He needs help,  _now_!”

* * *

The doctor - Jack’s sure that the man introduced himself but he really didn’t care enough right then to remember the guy’s name - rattles off a list of Mac’s injuries but somewhere around “cracked T- _whatever_ vertebrae” Jack just stops listening. Later, he’ll grab the good doc and make him repeat and  _explain_ what it all means in laymen terms but right now, the only important thing is that Mac’s  _alive_ , that he’ll make it.

Jack collapses into the chair in the waiting room, now dressed in scrubs some good soul found for him because his clothes were a bust, and he hides his face in his hands. Only now he starts shivering as the events of the day finally catch up with him. Then he feels something soft settle across his shoulders. A blanket. He looks up.  _Riley_.

“He’ll be okay, Jack,” she whispers, smiling a little, and Jack has a hard time swallowing.

“You did good,” Matty adds, standing in front of him with Bozer right behind her, nodding and grinning wide. “You found our boy. You found him, Jack.  _You did good!_ ”

And Jack nods, too, that’s all he does because he can’t find his voice, he can’t even find it in himself to smile. It’s just, it’s _too much_. If Jack didn’t listen to his gut, if he did not drive out there, if he… Mac would’ve  _died_ out there, nobody would’ve found him until it was too late. And that thought makes Jack’s hands shake even harder.

* * *

He’s there when Mac wakes up, battered and bruised, cut and sewn back together, and with his face swollen and black and blue; it hurts even looking at the kid. Jack scoots closer to the hospital bed to rest his hand lightly on Mac’s forearm, the one place that looks, miraculously so, more or less intact.

“Hey, buddy,” Jack whispers when Mac blinks at him groggily, gaze unfocused.

“Ja-ack?” he croaks out.

Nodding, Jack swallows tears. God damn it, when did he become so emotional? He tries to speak but his voice fails him, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re in a hospital. You had an accident.”

Mac closes his eyes and furrows his brows a little; it must hurt because he stops almost immediately. “There-there was a car, in my-my… lane. The head-headlights, I couldn’t see… anything.” He starts to sound agitated.

“Hey,  _hey_ , kid,” Jack jumps in. “Stop it. None of that now. You’ll be alright and I promise you, I  _swear_ , nobody else but your skinny self got hurt,” he hastens to reassure his friend because he knows exactly what Mac’s thinking.

Slowly, Mac opens his eyes again and looks at Jack. “Really?” he asks in a small voice.

Jack nods firmly. “There was only you out there. We checked,  _thoroughly_. I  _promise_! And you’ll be alright.  _Everything_ will be alright. Trust me, okay?”

Mac smiles a little and starts nodding, then he thinks better of it. “Always,” he rasps. A moment later, his eyes close and he falls asleep again.

And Jack slumps back in his chair, and drawing in a shuddery, relieved breath, he settles in for a long wait.


End file.
